


Icicles

by Makowo



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Gen, Happy birthday Kyoko, ILY, Mild Angst, Moving On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 14:09:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20931509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makowo/pseuds/Makowo
Summary: There. Placed in the ground, just a little ways off the main path, lies a grave. It appears only just as significant as the rest within its row, coated by a layer of snow, icicles hanging down from a tree overhead. But this one is special. Special to her.





	Icicles

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in under an hour for Kyoko's birthday  
Ain't the best i could do, but I wanted to give something for the day

Kyoko steps through the white, clean gates, and immediately is hit with apprehension.

She was, is, and shall never be one to find such places terrifying. She holds no fear for cemeteries, ancient acres of land filled with the bodies of the dead. This one, people somehow find specially cursed. For it is the cemetery holding many bodies of those that died in the midst of The Tragedy. Stories have been woven time and time again, of the vengeful, angered souls of hopefuls and despairs alike haunting the land in their grand unrest.

Kyoko cares little for such insignificant tales exchanged between naive teens that know no better. They are just that, after all; tales made to scare and entertain in the dark of the night. Yet for some strange reason, Kyoko finds herself lingering on these little stories as she traverses the icy graveyard.

She does not stop nor slow down, but her expression quick to morph from one of indifference to another, a frown tugging at her lips. And nearly, she debates going back to her car. But she’s come out this far, she should at least continue on. It would be both a waste of time and money for her to leave now and go back home, and she is certainly not one to waste.

So she forces her legs to continue on, making footprints in the thin layer of snow coating the concrete of the path. It’s strange, to find a place like this empty, she thinks as she take a sharp turn right. This is a place holding many loved ones, so surely there would be people coming to pay their respects, especially on a day like this. But maybe it’s the cold. Or maybe, something more. Maybe many here don’t have anyone that can pay respects.

She turns once again, and stops. There. Placed in the ground, just a little ways off the main path, lies a grave. It appears only just as significant as the rest within its row, coated by a layer of snow, icicles hanging down from a tree overhead. But this one  _ is _ special. Special to her.

The Ex-Detective takes a step forward, then another, each one filled with a little more shakiness than the last. She can barely tell when she’s arrived at the slab of stone, until she’s hit with an overwhelming feeling. She doesn’t wish to acknowledge it yet though, despite how harsh it hits. Instead she sits down on her knees, feeling the dirty white snow cling to her legs. It’s cold, but she’s used to such a feeling.

Kyoko watches her breath leave her, floating into the air and dissipating soon after. Then looks back down, studying the layer of ice coating the nicely cut concrete slab. It’s small and neat, in just the right way that she can easily wipe away the snow with her gloved hand, tugging off small spikes of ice keeping the named engraved upon the surface out of sight.

“Kirigiri Jin” It reads. Nothing more, nothing less. Not even a quote. Perhaps it was rushed, or perhaps only a name was placed out of disrespect for the final headmaster of the damned school known as the old Hope’s Peak Academy. Obsessed with talent, the man had somehow managed to form the once prideful academy into the incubator for what many refer to as “Ultimate Despair”, or Enoshima Junko as many truly know her. No one likes to give her a name that of a normal person however, so instead they gave her a simple title so that none may utter her name and acknowledge her humanity.

Enoshima is not someone she’s here to acknowledge however. Slowly, the woman places a small ball of glass with a flat bottom in front of the grave, a single Bellflower encased within. Putting actual flowers here would do little good, so she thought that perhaps offering one preserved in glass would fare in the cold winter weather.

She tugs her coat a little closer to herself, her slim form being taken by a violent tremble. From both the cold, and emotions bottled up and left to fester for a tad too long, eliciting a whimper brimming with weakness. A tear glides down her pale complexion, dropping onto the unclean, rough snow’s surface. Her eyes sting, wishing to bring forth more tears, but she lets only a few more flow freely before wiping her face of the rest.

Slowly, the girl rises to her feet, her shakiness now incredibly apparent. She’s lucky there’s no one present to glimpse her moment of weakness, to interrupt this small, rare moment allowing her to let go for a few seconds’ time. She brushes a few strands of her lavender hair out of her face, snow dripping into the strands and wetting them. She cares little however, focused on the grave lacking its body.

“I wish I had spent more time with you.” The usually stoic woman confesses to no one but the cold, her breaths appearing in the air for mere moments once more. Her tone is flat and cold, but also holds an amount of solemness to it, that of longing and sorrow for the wish now unable to be fulfilled.

Maybe she could care for tales of spirits wandering this cemetery. Then, there could be a chance that her father is listening. It is childish, but comforting, in a way.

With her task for the morning fulfilled, Kirigiri bows once more, turning on her heel and walking away, her steps light and easy as she traces back the footprints left in the snow. The cold prickles at her skin, a slight chill rushing through her. But she welcomes it, unbothered by the feeling. For it is the first true winter of the Post-Tragedy world, and the first Christmas lacking crushing despair. Who would not revel in the feeling of the cold, the sting proof of their struggles for a cleansed world finally coming to fruition?

Kyoko stops at the gates, turning one last time back to the cemetery. A soft smile forms on her slightly red face, bowing her head a few seconds longer before stepping through the white, clean gates, her deep purple gaze lacking a foriegn fatigue she had felt for so long.


End file.
